


Haunt of the Quick and Dirty

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-14
Updated: 2006-06-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 20:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: It all starts when the car breaks down...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

The Haunt of the Quick and Dirty

**Title** \- The Haunt of the Quick and Dirty  
**Pairing** \- Sam/Dean  
**Size** \- 16K  
**Rating** \- porn  
**Spoilers** \- none  
  
thanks to [ ](http://maygra.livejournal.com/profile)[**maygra**](http://maygra.livejournal.com/) for the awesome and super fast beta, and to [ ](http://traveller.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://traveller.livejournal.com/)**traveller** who advised me that the title need not make sense *g* MWAH to you both!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_**The Haunt of the Quick and Dirty**_  
  
  
  
The car broke down just outside of Nashville.   
  
The sound was the first thing Dean noticed. Every time Sam put his foot on the gas, something from under the hood made a painful screech like someone had stepped on the tip of a cat’s tail. When Dean looked over at the gauges, the needles had all spun around in a full circle before pointing down toward empty or zero. Sam was driving, which was just one more strike against them in Dean’s book, but the real kicker was when the entire inside of the car started to smell like a mix of burnt rubber and old gasoline.   
  
“Dean, what the--“  
  
“Just pull over, Sammy,” Dean said. Sam slanted a look at him across the front seat, but pulled the car to the side of the road without comment.   
  
It was early fall and the leaves were just starting to change colors. They crunched under Dean’s boots, crumbled like dust under his jacket as he slid under the belly of the car. He’d already checked under the hood. The fuel pump, alternator. Dean was good with cars; there wasn’t a vehicle out there he couldn’t strip or jack or wire. But this – stuck on the side of the road with no lift and nothing but the most basic tools in the trunk – this didn’t bode well.   
  
“Should I call a tow truck?”  
  
Dean slid out from under the car. Sam was standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk curving his lips. “No,” Dean said. “I’m just gonna…”  
  
“Uh huh,” Sam nodded. “You’re gonna what?”  
  
“I got a plan,” Dean told him. He sat up on the dirt.   
  
“What’s the plan, Dean?” Sam asked with a snicker.  
  
Dean stuck out one hand and let Sam pull him to his feet. “I’m gonna call a tow truck.”  
  
Sam handed Dean his phone. “Oh. Why didn’t I think of that?”  
  
*  
  
They hadn’t gotten far enough out of Nashville to actually _leave_ it, was the thing. There was a beat up yellow pages in the back seat that Dean had swiped from the hotel before they left, and he thumbed through trying to find a garage farther out – more on the way to where they were going – but no dice.   
  
Nashville was hardly gonna be happy to see them again, not that Dean really cared. He wasn’t in this business to make friends. If that’s what he was looking for he’d have gone to school to be a bank guy or some hotshot CEO.   
  
Sam maybe wanted to make friends. Or, if he didn’t, he sure was able to fake it real well. He schmoozed the guy on the phone to come out and get them wherever the hell they were stranded. A strategically placed “We’re real sorry” here and another “We really appreciate the kindness” there, and slam, bam, they were picked up in less than twenty minutes with a Coke and a smile.  
  
They rode back into town in the cab of the tow truck, rocks and gravel and bumps in the road jerking the truck all over the place. The driver weighed about three-hundred pounds and had a layer of dirt and grease caked into his five o’clock shadow. He chewed tobacco and played nothing but “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” the entire ride back. Dean sat pressed between the two of them because Sam climbed in last. His right shoulder pressed against Sam’s left, and Dean kept his eyes on the road ahead of them and tried to not make eye-contact with Sam. The last thing he needed to do was piss off Mr. Big, Dumb and Ugly and wind up being the tow truck's new hood ornament.  
  
The driver dropped them at the tiny repair shop on the honest to God _Main Street_ in town. He pulled away with a grunt and both of his hands firmly on the wheel. Dean waved broadly over his head and pasted a smile on his face. “Wave to the man, Sammy,” he said. “So he doesn’t come back and kill us.”  
  
Sam grinned and waved. “You ever see Deliverance, Dean?”  
  
Dean grabbed Sam’s bag from the backseat and tossed it to him. “Yeah. And I don’t feel like starring in Deliverance two,” he added. His own bag was on the floor behind the driver seat. Dean poked around in the trunk for a few of his things then slammed it shut.   
  
The motel across the street was dimly lit, and read more that it was an _otel_ than a motel. That was all right though, because the neon pink _cancy_ sign was still lit up, so Dean figured they were pretty much set for the night.   
  
*  
  
They hadn’t even been gone long enough for the maids to come and clean their old room. The tired looking man behind the counter just rolled his eyes and handed the keys over when Dean grinned at him. He signed the credit card slip and tossed the keys in the air. Sam reached out and caught them.   
  
Dean had found a tiny supply closet on the way back to the room and grabbed a few towels. When they were in the room he threw his bag on the bed, locked the door behind them, and told Sam he was going to take a shower.   
  
“I’ll go get some sodas from the machines,” Sam told him.   
  
The water was actually hot, and the shower had decent pressure. That was one good thing going for them. Dean showered as quickly as he could with the tiny bar of soap still left in the dish, then stepped out and wiped the mirror off with the corner of a thin towel.   
  
By the time he was done shaving Sam was back. There were two cans of soda and five bags of chips on Dean’s bed. Sam was eating a granola bar. How he managed to find something even remotely healthy from a snack machine in the middle of nowhere was beyond Dean’s comprehension.  
  
“Thanks for getting stuff,” Dean said.   
  
Sam nodded and finished eating. He balled the wrapper up and tossed it into the pail halfway across the room. “So what’s our plan for tomorrow?” he asked.  
  
Dean huffed and pulled a t-shirt over his head. He rifled through his bag and then sat on the corner of his bed with his back to Sam to pull a pair of boxers on under his towel. “Well, first we’ve got to get Gomer Pyle out here to fix the damn car,” Dean said. He dropped the towel on the floor and kicked it up against the wall. “God knows how long _that’s_ gonna take.”  
  
“It’s only one night,” Sam said, shrugging. “We’ll head for Indiana tomorrow.”  
  
“Yeah, right. I know.” Dan stood up and paced. “It’s just that dad said on the phone—“  
  
“Dad will understand car trouble, Dean,” Sam told him. He stood up from his bed and reached into his bag to grab some clothes. “He’d hardly expect us to _walk_ to Indiana.”  
  
Dean flopped down onto the bed and flung his arms out. “Right. Fine. You’re right.”   
  
He felt the remote hit him on the chest. “I’m gonna shower,” Sam said. He pressed the power button on the TV as he walked in front of it on his way to the bathroom. “Find something to watch.”  
  
*  
  
The TV had two working channels: the local news, complete with bad reception and static, and an infomercial with Suzanne Somers showing you how to dehydrate an apple. By the time Sam was done with his shower, Dean was losing his mind.   
  
“I hate this,” Dean said the minute the bathroom door opened.   
  
Sam stuck his head out. “What?”  
  
“This,” Dean said, waving a hand around. “Being stuck here, nowhere to go.”  
  
“Dean, it’s _one night._ ” He was wearing a pair of old sweatpants and nothing else. Sam’s hair was wet and he raked it away from his face with his fingers. “I mean—“  
  
“That’s not it.” Dean sat up. Sam sat across from him on the bed and watched him. “I just – I hate not having my car. Not being able to just get up and go. Gives me hives.”  
  
Dean didn’t expect Sam to understand, this was the one thing he really never did. All through their lives, Sam was perfectly content to try and stay in one place. Make a home, get some friends. Go to school and maybe try out for the basketball team or cheerleading or some shit.   
  
But not Dean.   
  
Dean hated feeling stuck somewhere. He hated being trapped and tied down and in any one place for too long. Not that they’d been in Nashville for any length of time, but they were _stuck_ there. They couldn’t _leave_ unless they found a new car, got a new ride – something like that. Dean was starting to twitch.   
  
Sam knew this though. He knew Dean maybe better than anyone, and when Dean went to stand up and pace again, Sam just reached out and wrapped his fingers around Dean’s wrist. “How much change you got?” he asked.  
  
Dean quirked an eyebrow. “What?”  
  
Sam went over to his bag and started rifling through stuff. When he whipped out a pack of cards and grinned, Dean started to chuckle.  
  
“Dude. I can _kick your ass_ in poker,” Dean reminded him.  
  
“Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?” Sam said, teasingly.  
  
“Oh ho. You’re going _down,_ ” Dean told him. He scooted back against the headboard and cleared the blanket off for the cards. Sam sat across from him and shuffled. Dean watched his long fingers gracefully handle the cards. Watched as Sam blew a hunk of hair off his forehead as he started to deal.   
  
*  
  
Dean was down eight bucks, fifty-six cents, and three buttons. “At least it looks like you learned something in school, college boy,” he said as Sam scooped up his winnings.   
  
Sam laughed and tossed a button at his head. Dean knocked him over and got him in a head lock, and Sam laughed and tried to flip Dean onto his back. It was like every night they’d spent in a motel room when they were kids. Dean could be fifteen or eighteen right now, the sound of Sam laughing against his ear and calling uncle. If Dean looked close enough he could almost see their dad in the corner of the room; talking on the phone, plotting a route out on a map while Sam and Dean horsed around.   
  
It felt like it always did, like it always had, but then Sam moved. He shifted and Dean could smell the shampoo Sam used in the shower. He could feel Sam’s body on his and his fingers were touching the soft skin of Sam’s back. Sam’s hair was still damp, and it brushed across Dean’s chin. A strand got caught in his mouth, and Sam pulled back and blinked at him slowly.  
  
“Dean,” he said. His voice was rough. It was a voice Dean never heard from Sam before, and then he moved, pressed his knee between Dean’s legs and Dean’s breath caught in his throat.   
  
It was too much. Too many things, too much going on. Dean felt something press hard against his chest when he tried to breathe. He twisted his head and shoved Sam off him.   
  
“Dude, what the fuck?” Sam was looking at him like he lost his mind. Dean just shrugged. Maybe he had.   
  
“Nothing, just—“ he huffed. “I’m tired, is all.”  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow and made a face. “Whatever, Dean. I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
Two minutes later, Sam turned the lights off. Dean could hear him rustling in the bed next to his. He could hear Sam’s body moving under the rough sheets, punching the lumpy pillow. Sam’s breath came out in a sigh and Dean curled the fingers of his right hand into a tight fist to keep from reaching out across the space between both their beds.   
  
Ten minutes later, Dean was asleep.  
  
*  
  
The room was pitch-black. Dean woke up when something moved over him. A shadow shifted, the bed creaked, and when he opened his eyes Sam had one knee against the side of his bed and his hands balled into fists.   
  
“Dean.” Sam’s voice was rough and broken. Dean didn’t even think, just reached up and curled his hand over the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him down onto the bed.  
  
_This_ was what was different, why he had to push Sam away before. This thing that was there between him and Sam now, that hadn’t been there when they were fifteen or eighteen. Sam’s breath was hot and wet against Dean’s neck. His hands were clammy and shaking as they touched Dean’s skin.   
  
“I don’t – I don’t know what’s going on,” Sam panted against Dean’s skin. “Fuck, Dean,” he gasped as Dean slipped his fingers into Sam’s hair and bit across his chin, the corner of his mouth.   
  
Sam’s body was long and hard and Dean shifted so they were lined up against each other, their bodies fitting together like the two last pieces of a puzzle. He kissed Sam’s mouth, slicked his tongue across Sam’s lips. Sam gasped and moaned and shook against him.   
  
“Dean, I just—“  
  
“I know, Sam,” Dean said quietly. Sam lifted his head and Dean pushed the hair back from his face.   
  
Sam’s eyes fell shut. His hips moved; he shoved against Dean harder. Dean could feel Sam, hot and hard through his sweatpants and Dean’s own cotton boxers. Dean could taste the traces of toothpaste still in Sam’s mouth. Sam made a sound low in his throat as they moved together, as Dean kept kissing him, kept moving his hands down Sam’s back, under the waistband of his pants. His fingers clutching skin, holding Sam against him, and Sam panted and whimpered and sounded like he was laughing and dying and crying all at once.   
  
“Fuck, Dean, I’m gonna—“  
  
Dean pressed a hand against the small of Sam’s back, held him in place as Sam shivered and gasped and came on top of him. Sam’s skin was damp with sweat, his mouth was hot and he kissed Dean hard. Thrust his tongue deep in Dean’s mouth. Kissed him and held him down until Dean was tossing his head on the pillow, wrapping his fist in the damp and twisted sheets.   
  
“Sammy, Jesus-“ Dean closed his eyes and bit down on his lip and came harder than he ever had in his life, Sam still kissing his throat and touching his face and murmuring Dean’s name.   
  
*  
  
It wasn’t the first time they woke up in bed together, not by a long shot. When they were kids they actually shared a bed more often than not; dad getting his own and the other for Sam and Dean to share.   
  
It _was_ the first time though, that they were waking up in bed together, half-dressed after fucking the night before. Dean opened his eyes slowly and blinked up at the ceiling.  
  
Sam was still sleeping. Dean could hear him snoring softly next to him. He stood up and went to the bathroom to take a piss. By the time he cleaned up and got dressed, Sam was sitting up in bed, yawning and running a hand over his face.   
  
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean said. He slapped Sam’s foot under the covers and went to grab his wallet.   
  
“Morning,” Sam said.  
  
The sun was shining bright through the flimsy curtains covering he windows, and Dean knew that Sam was waiting for Dean to do something, say something about the night before.   
  
He walked over and cuffed the side of Sam’s head. “I’m gonna walk down to the diner and find us some food. Why don’t you get some more sleep?”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Sam said slowly.  
  
“Then I’ll check on the car, see how long that’s gonna take.”  
  
Sam nodded. “All right.”  
  
“And maybe, I don’t know,” Dean shrugged. “I mean, it’s only one day. Maybe we’ll just hang out here for a while. Indiana’s not going anywhere, right?”  
  
Sam smiled slowly. “You gonna be okay with that? Sitting around, doing nothing all day?”  
  
Dean grinned back. “Yeah. I think we can amuse ourselves.”  
  
Sam didn’t say anything, just smiled and laid back down to go to sleep. Dean stuck his wallet in his pants, slipped a pair of sunglasses on, and pushed the door open.   
  
The sun was shining, Dean was stuck in Nashville, and he lost eight bucks to his little brother in poker the night before. Sam was with him though, so Dean figured that everything would work out fine.  
 


End file.
